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By 



Walter B. Clinard 



Copyright 1912 b^W. B. Clinard 



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'^o my Alma Mater, the University of North Carolina, 

under whose fostering care 

have come inspiration and incentive to lofty endeavor, 

I dedicate, with deep gratitute, 

these Stray Poems. 



It is very difficult to understand why North 
Carolina has had so few sons who have made 
permanent contributions to the literature of our 
section of the nation. Surely it is not because we 
as a people have no story to tell; our annals have 
been made illustrious by pioneer and soldier, edu- 
cator and builder. We are rich in the beauties 
of nature that have inspired the great singers of 
mankind. We are heir of English blood, a heritage 
of light and genius. I am convinced that we have 
not sufficiently encouraged the sons of our people 
to speak forth their message. Believing this, and 
hearing in Mr. Clinard's songs a note of the finer 
melodies, I gladly wish him and his work well. 
'PLATO TRACY 'DURHAM 



'MiHHMMNIiMik.', - ^^ ^Bl*— JMi 



I ask not for the knowledge of Rousseau, 

Or for the power that brought to Webster fame, 
Or the unending praise of Shakespeare's name, 

Or the weird pen of Hawthorne or of Poe. 

I care not for the vain world's pomp and show, 
Or for the luxuries that wealth can buy — 
I want no claim on wealth to lift me high 

In social realms, or on me power bestow. 

But give to me a cottage in a glen. 

With one path leading to a gentle stream — 
That I may watch its silvery waters gleam — 

Another leading to the haunts of men. 

There may I dwell with helping hand to lend 
And be to all humanity a friend. 



Eipn Art tn Mt 

Thy smile, like April's gentle sun, 

Doth v/arm the heart from Winter's blast; 
The Bud of Hope springs forth at last 

With love and friendship wreathed in one. 
A messenger of love thou art, 
The wine of life to cheer the heart. 

Thine eyes are as two beacon lights 
That shine upon a restless sea. 
To light the way to God and thee, 

In stormy days and starless nights. 
Thou art a messenger of light 
To guide the bark of life aright. 

Thy form and face and character 

Are moulded in such symmetry. 

That even Venus envies thee 
And man is but thy worshipper. 

A pure and spotless queen thou art^ 

Enthroned within the human heart. 



m 3 ®l|tttk cf Elin 

I think of thee when daybreak is adorning 
The eastern skies, and birds are in the trees, 

When clouds of mist before the rays of morning 
Are driven like a sail before the breeze. 

I think of thee from morning's call to duty — 
When Industry is wakened from his rest — 

Until the sun, in rich celestial beauty. 

Retires beneath the purple-manteled West. 

I think of thee when in nocturnal splendor 
The heavens are lighted by a million flames, 

When Luna — ever modest, ever tender — 
Sends down her silver smiles on lovers' dreams. 

I think of thee through every living minute, 
For thou alone art more than life to me; 

The world is naught, and all the wealth that's in it, 
Compared to one sweet thought — a thought of 
thee. 



MW 



The name "Wynona" stands apart 

From every mortal name; 
It lights the alters of my heart 

With Love's eternal flame- 

I v^rote thy name upon the sand 

As I stood by the sea; 
A cruel wave rolled o'er the land, 

And left no name for me. 

I carved it on a granite stone, 
Qn Mitchell's lofty height; 

But Time has claimed it for his own 
And crumbled it from sight. 

On Memory's fond, enchanted scroll 
I have inscribed thy name; 

Let Time and Seas forever roll. 
It here remains the same. 



M^ CSmbtttg Star 

The Master-Artist stole from heaven 

The blue that's in thine eye, 
And mingled it with radiant light 

From Heaven's rich supply, 
That man might see the crystal light 

Which leads to God on high. 

He stole the lily from the stem 

To harmonize v^ith blue. 
And dipped his brush into the rose, 

And love's immortal hue 
Was spread upon thy blushing cheek 

Where lovelight burns anew. 

Into this masterpiece of art. 

He breathed a living soul — 
Fresh from the Throne of Paradise, 

Where love's law doth control — 
And bade her seek a lonely heart 

With friendship to condole. 

O, truest friend ! O, guiding star! 

O, pilot of the night! 
On life's dark ocean, tempest tossed, 

In God and thee is light. 
Twixt smiling cliffs and frowning crags, 

I pray thee, guide aright, 
Till daybreak shows the Golden Gate 

Of Paradise in sight. 



m 



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©0 Myttotta 

There's no other girl in the world like you, 
With a heart so true and with eyes so blue, 

And those eyes so bright, 

With a heavenly light. 
Sparkle like the sunlit drops of dew. 

Oft the soft moonbeams bring dreams of you, 
And the Garden of Eden blooms anew. 

For your fair face seems 

In my golden dreams 
As in days gone by when my dreams were true. 

Come drink at the fountain of love with me, 
And youth shall never depart from thee; 

There we'll sit and sing 

By youth's living spring 
While time rolls on to eternity. 



Wliat J l&mh ttt four 1Eg?s 

I look in your eyes tonight, love, 

Where the glow of the crystalline skies 

Is reflected in luminous light, love, 
And my heart leaps up with surprise: 

There, deep in those violet orbs, love, 
I can read of a love that is true; 

And the soul that their luster absorbs, love, 
Is a soul that is living for you. 

In my heart are the birds of the forest. 
In my soul is Spring-morning's first dew. 

For my highest ambition, my dearest. 
Is to love and be loved by just you. 



I 



While wandering through a leafy dell, 
I spied amid the thorns a rose; 

I plucked it and, with magic spell, 
It led me where the lily grows 
And where love's river ever flows 

Into a lake — Eternal Love — 
And on its bosom ever glows 

A silver light from realms above. 

I paused, and ere I was aware, 

The fragrance of that rare perfume 
Had permeated all the air 

And raised my soul beyond life's gloom; 

And, as one risen from the tomb. 
My soul threw off its mortal care. 

And like the rose my life did bloom 
With hope to woo and win the fair. 

Then cold and bitter blew the blast 

Of Winter's bleak and icy breath, 
Until the Bud of Hope at last 

Fell shivering in the bonds of Death. 

Yet in my soul there lingereth 
A dormant love — a silent place — 

Which Time and Tears and even Death 
Will ne'er have power to efface. 






To thee, dear friend, I greetings bring, 
Who hast this day, in cheerful mood, 

Bid farewell to thy days of Spring 
And entered Summer — Womanhood. 

I met thee in the early Spring; 
I see thee now in everything — 
The rosebud's red the wind did blow 
Out of thy cheek of youthful glow. 

Beds of Hyacinths, white and blue. 
Stole from thine eyes their dainty hue; 
Carnations, a zephyr saith, 
Stole their fragrance from thy breath. 

Upon the keys thy fingers move 
And sordid memories pass away. 

For all the air is filled with love 
And universal harmony. 

Thy voice, alike the poet's art. 

With tones so sweet and yet so strong, 

Can soothe the sad and broken heart 
And melt the "heart of stone" with song. 



We come tonight to honor thee, 

For thou art free today, — eighteen, 

And in this jolly company 

Some heart has crowned thee for its queen. 

To thee, dear friend, I greetings bring. 
Who hast this day, in cheerful mood, 

Bid farewell to thy days of Spring 
And entered Summer — Womanhood. 



•/^^Vti'T^'P^Rf*; 



( Written in Chapel Hill under ' 'Davie Poplar. ' ') 

It was midnight in the Springtime 

And the golden April moon 
Filled the earth with mystic beauty, 

Like the northern lights in June. 
Out into that midnight beauty, 

I had wandered, seeking rest. 
For I'd wrestled hard with duty, 

And my aching head and breast 
Sought repose 'neath "Davie Poplar" 

Where but moonbeams could molest. 

As I sat in meditation. 

Gazing o'er the campus green, 
Studded with its giant oak trees 

Towering toward the skies serene — 
I was lost in thought, reviewing 

Lives of men who'd gone before: 
Polk and Yancey, Vance and Morehead, 

And perhaps a hundred more; 
Men who stood for truth and justice, 

And whose names we all adore. 



Then I heard a voice so softly 

Whisper in my listless ear, 
"We are with you, younger brother, 

We are also lingering here; 
Don't grow weary, keep on toiling 

Till you're laid beneath the sod; 
In the name of Alma Mater, 

Follow in the paths we've trod: 
For the path that leads to Duty, 

Is the path that leads to God." 



(Written for Lenoir College Annual) 

Alma Mater — dear Lenoir, 

Home of Love and Friendship's birth, 
Fondest memories evermore 

Linger round thy sacred hearth. 

Memories of youth's brightest day — 
Fast, how fast it fades away. 

Thou wast cradled, dear Lenoir, 
In Obstruction's swelling tide; 
But the Watchman on the shore 
Taught the pilot how to guide. 
May the God that nurtured thee 
Guard thy future destiny. 

Though thy sisters, dear Lenoir, 

Have excelled thee in renown, 
'Tis the Past they glory o'er; 
In the Future is thy crown. 
Time has saved his rarest gem 
To adorn thy diadem. 

Hail! O hail! then, dear Lenoir. 

Spirit of pure joy and mirth, 
Gird thyself for evermore 

With the Truth that gave thee birth. 
Mayest thou heed the call to duty — 
Seek for Goodness, Truth, and Beauty. 



_±M 



A Pra^f r Jo Ifoji^ 



Be my incentive o'er life's rugged highway, 
For life is dormant when away from thee; 

But with thy hand in mine I learn the nigh way 
That leads to God and to activity. 

To me thou art the balm for all my sorrows, 
And from thy presence all dark shadows flee. 

O, Star of Hope, that lights the dark tomorrows. 
And brightens life in days that are to be ! 

Because thou art the voice of Him who's holy. 
And Time and Death shall have no claim on thee. 

Wilt thou, who lendeth strength to help the lowly. 
Come place thy hand in mine and walk with me. 



M 



When the world moves on with a merry chime, 
And heaven and earth seem one fair clime, 
And you live with the angels in realms sub- 
lime — 

You re in love! 

When your path is blocked with stumps and stones, 
And the burdens of life make weary your bones. 
And the cold world laughs at your" sighs and 
groans — 

You've been jilted! 

When your shoes are worn and your feet are sore. 
And your clothes are patched as in days of yore, 
, And you haven't the means to buy any more — 
You're married! 

When you are the pride of your native land — 
Your faults forgotten while your virtues stand — 
And your character lauded as noble and 
grand — 

You re DEAD! 



PRESS OF 

THE BARBER PRIMTERY 

WINSTON-SALEM, N. C. 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




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